Skyrim : The Tale of the Dragonborn
by Jared Collins
Summary: An indepth look at the Dragonborn as - he in this particualr instance - saves Tamriel. Follow Alduin's Bane as he discovers his true powers, and journeys the land. Though is he really the hero people believe? Or is his past tainted much darker.. Very closely branched with basic Skyrim plot in first chapter, will expand in later releases. Edit rated M for dark, violent scenes later.


Blackness. I stirred in my sleep as the sound of a horse and carriage traveling along the road reached my ears. Or had it been there the whole time? I was uncomfortable, both my legs were numb from feeling and so were my hands. I was cold, and could feel the wind in my hair. I wasn't in bed, so why was I asleep? Struggling, I forced my eyelids to open. The brightness stung my vision and my head throbbed leaving me with no doubts, I hadn't been sleeping, I had been knocked out. As if to confirm this in the most obvious manner possible, my wrists were bound together in my lap, and my rear stiff from sitting on the wooden seat of a carriage. Turning my eye to my surroundings, I took in that I was accompanied by three other prisoners. A man across from me with long, braided dirty blonde hair and a short beard and adorned in chain mail. To his left, a short black haired man wearing a green tunic and finally, to my right. With equally long, dirty blonde hair to match the first, a man wearing a fur cloak, chain mail and who was curiously gagged - all three were Nords, and all had shadows under their eyes. In front of the carriage was another load of prisoners. Both carriages - and a horse following behind us - were being rode through an icy forest by Imperial Soldiers. I cursed every profanity I knew under my breath, this didn't look good. Not good at all. The only icy regions I knew of Cyrodil were far to the north, on the borders of Skyrim. One place I had hoped never to go near or get involved with its politics The civil war was a nightmare.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake.."

My attention snapped back to reality as the silence was broken by the man across from me.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" He continued, "Walked straight into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

He nodded to his left during the last few words and I turned my attention to the man number two - I wouldn't ask for names, names were unimportant among the nearly dead - and turning round he vented a speech that had clearly been conceived a few hours previously, then held onto with bitter anger,

"Damn you stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell!"

I chuckled slightly at this, what was the old saying, a bad blacksmith always blames at his hammer, and a bad thief always blamed his surroundings. Slightly irritated, the Thief turned his attention to me and I prepared my best threats to silence him if he attempted to rant to me. He, however, did not try. Instead he attempted to win me to his cause against the apparent Stormcloaks.

"You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Did this man truelly wish to spend his last while under a clear sky in a bitter argument? There would be time for that in jail. As if realizing this himself, the first man attempted to placate him. I however, lost interest and turned to see where we were going, and stared down the forest road while his voice bored into me,

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

The carriage was just passing between two high jutting rocks at either side of the road when the soldier in front turned with a cold expression,

"Shut up back there!"

Conversation died immediately.

Silence passed like a frozen sheet of ice over a rapid river, stifling its life and energy. It was at this point my head started to clear and I realized I had been disoriented, and slow. Scowling outwardly I berated myself and turned my focus back to the fellow prisoners. Quite whispering was now underway, and I hurried to listen in, for at least some way to pass the time.

"...wrong with him, huh?" Thief was asking in reference to the third man, gagged and unable to speak, but glaring hard enough to turn a mans soul to dust

"Watch your tongue! You're talking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

I groaned. So much for avoiding Skyrim's politics.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion." A slight pause from the Thief, then panic entered his voice like a stampede of mammoths storming a quiet clearing, "But if they've captured you? Oh gods...Where are they taking us?!"

I pitied this man, even a fool should surely see the inevitable. To kill a rebellion you must cut off the head before attacking the body, and the body has to know you have done it. Jarl Stormcloak was due a public execution, and they were surely in for the same fate. The only question was where, and when. Would they do it quick? Or would the bastards let the poison of fear seep into their prisoners bones, hoping to drag them out kicking and screaming. What better way to quell an army of brutes, than for their leader to break and quiver like a fox under a blade.

The first man answered, slowly, " I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits."

"No. No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening." I almost felt sad myself listening to him sobbing, and almost compelled to help. Not quite compelled, and beaten to the task anyway.

"Hey, what village are you from horse thief?" The first man asked,

"Why do you care?"

The first man sighed slightly, then looked into his eyes,

"A Nord's last thoughts, should be of home."

The thief trembled,"Rorikstead, I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

A much louder voice interrupted any of my own homely memories I might have been having, not that there were any, drawing my field of vision back to the front of the cart, my eyes widening.

We were entering a fort.

"General Tullius! The henchmen are waiting!" The guard above the entrance was calling.

General Tullius it appeared, had been driving the front cart.

"Good! Let's get this over with."

We traveled passed the perimeter and I was left to turn my mind over in annoyance. Well. My plans had apparently taken an ill turn. The task I had assigned myself: Do not, get involved with Skyrim, or any of its civil war factions. Said task had been failed so horribly, I was due to be executed alongside the leader of the rebellion, by the head of the Imperial forces in Skyrim. Truelly well done, in my opinion.

The thief started praying, and was ignored.

"Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor. Looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

The carriage was passing by houses, and locals were standing outside. For the first time since waking, I cleared my throat and spoke,

"I gather that this is Skyrim, but where are we?"

The Nord across from me got misty eyed and answered quietly,

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that Mead with Juniper berries mixed in."

"You sound like you had fun here," I stated, smirking at his dreamlike tone and glazed expression.

His eyes met mine and he nodded, "It's funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

He fell silent, and whispers washed over us from the locals. Children wondering aloud, concerned parents ushering them indoors. The carriage stopped in front of a wall, and the Thief insisted on being the obvious one and my eyes rolled.

"Why are we stopping?" As if it wasn't evident enough.

"Why do you think?" The first nord replied, "End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting on us."

We each stood, and guards came to the back of the carriage to collect us.

"No, wait! We're not rebels!" Thief began to shout at them, pleading.

"Face your death with some courage thief!" The first Nord snapped at him.

"You've got to tell them we weren't with you. This is a mistake!" He began furiously whispering at the stormcloak.

"When we call your name, step towards the block. One at a time!" A female voice came aggressively bin our direction.

"Empire loves their damn lists." The first Nord and I muttered at the same time, he turned his head towards me and winked in good nature. He thought he was amongst friends.

The man at the head of our group began calling names. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The Jarl sauntered away to stand near the block, winged by guards to prevent his escape. "Ralaf of Riverwood," Damn. I hadn't wanted any names. Names had substance. They had memory. The first nord, the other rebel, walked forward, past the guard to take his place at his leaders side.

"Lokir of Rorikstead." I think I preferred to call him Thief. Lokir was just embarrassing.

"No! I'm not a rebel!" He began shouting again, moving forward in a manner often associated with foolish people, about to do something idiotic and deadly to themselves,

"You can't do this!"

The cry of "Halt!" Came from one of the legionnaires as Lok...Thief, ran past the guards and was sprinting unhindered towards the exit. Archers soundlessly pulled their strings back, aimed, and five arrows embedded themselves in Thief's back. He dropped dead to the ground, blood pooling around him.

There was no sound except nature.

The legionnaire turned to face me and the other group of prisoners.

"Anyone else feel like running?"

I felt this was directed at me, mainly due to the burning expression she gave me.

"Wait..." The man at the head of my empty space, previously populated, looked at his list then back at me,

"You there, step forward." I did, slowly and arrogantly albeit but I still complied.

"Who...are you?"

"An elf from High Rock." I smiled as if this explained everything.

"Yes...but what is your name?"

"My name?" I couldn't delay it any longer, but I had a rare opportunity here my own name would surely be recognized, I had no papers, they had to go on my word alone.

"Why yes of course, sir. My name, is Latieffe Montulan."

"You from Daggerfall, breton?" The man asked, "Fleeing from some court intrigue?"

I suppressed a smile, oh how right jokes were sometimes. The man continued,

"Captain. What should we do? He's not on the list."

His captain, the female legionnaire, answered quickly and coldly.

"Forget the list. He goes to the block."

"By your orders captain," then, in an undertone to me, "I'm sorry Latieffe, we'll assure your remains are returned to Highrock. Follow the Captain, prisoner."

Turning, I followed her to the front of the block where General Tullius was making an announcement.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Ulfric grunted back.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

A strange creature cried out throughout the trees and sky, bouncing off of nearby hills. It sounded massive.

"What was that?"

"It's nothing." The General stated, immediately quieting any dissent, "Carry on."

"Yes General Tullius!" The Captain answered, before addressing a priestess, "Give them their last rites."

The Priestess raised her arms towards us,

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the eight divines above you, for yo.."

Fortunately, she was cut across by the exclamation of

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!"

The speaker, one of the stormcloack soldiers, marched himself forward to the executioners block and stood facing it.

The Imperials were slightly taken back, but swiftly recovered.

"C'mon, I haven't got all morning!" The soldier taunted them, before the legionnaire pushed him to his knees, the pressed her foot into his back, leaning him forward onto the block.

"My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials. Can you say the same?"

Silence, no answer or sound but the whistle of the axe as it quickly cleft his head off. Dropping into the box, blood shortly squirted before the body limply fell to the side.

"You imperial bastards!" One of the soldiers cried out, before being answered by a cry of

"Justice!" From one of the villagers, and

"Death to the stormcloaks!" From one of the Imperial soldiers.

"As fearless in death, as he was in life." Ralaf quietly commented beside me. I bowed my head.

Silence. Then..

"Next! The Breton!"

Oh this had irony. I deserved this fate a million times over in the eyes of the law, the Empire. Now, they had me, but they had no idea who I was, and I was being executed for the simple fact of wrong place, wrong time. Irony indeed. The cry, or roar as I realized it was now, sounded again. Not from the trees though. Definitely the sky.

"There it is again, did you hear that?" The man with the list sounded worried now.

"I said! Next! Prisoner !" The captain screamed, clearly not wanting to be defied.

My boots felt heavy as I trudged forward, was this it? After every battle I had been through, after every life I took, I was going to end on a block. Not remotely exciting, or to be remembered. What is a name but a label? Anyone could invent one. I evidently just had. It was the deeds and death that made one a song. That gave one a story. Turning at the block, I wished to keep my dignity. I knelt and leaned forward, at my own pace, before the Captain had a chance to man handle me. I turned my head to look at the axe, and heard the roar. Just as I had looked up, a scaly black tail had vanished behind the tower. Then it was there. On top of the tower and staring at its dinner. A black dragon. It gave another roar and the very earth shook, every fiber in my body rippled, the skies changed colour to storm clouds and fireballs rained from the sky.


End file.
